


the stars that bind us & keep us apart

by solyn



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, anyway as a shiro stan shiro being Big Gay made me cry so have this, he's sensitive brenda, keith is shiro's little brother n adam is the best brother in law a guy could ask for, minor klance but this fic is shiro centric, rated t for some swearsies, spat it out in like 4 hours you're WELCOME, yes shiro does cry when keith asks him to make pancakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 22:23:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15374664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solyn/pseuds/solyn
Summary: Shiro's experiences with beds are rooted in the memories they bring. The memories without Adam aren't really ones he wants to remember.





	the stars that bind us & keep us apart

**Author's Note:**

> not edited, please enjoy this shit i wrote because i got excited about shiro being gay

Bed felt like home.

 

The routine clacking of the fan was the only noise in the still room, drowning out the sound of gentle breaths against Shiro’s neck. The sunlight filtered through shut blinds, creating stripes of gold along Adam’s warm skin. He looked beautiful, worth every ounce of pain it was taking Shiro to see. He considered it a skill, the ability to twist one’s neck at such an angle you didn’t wake your sleeping fiance, but were still able to admire their gorgeous features.

 

Adam’s strong jawline. Adam’s aquiline nose. Adam’s short eyelashes, comfortably resting one row on top of the other. Adam’s silly wrinkled eyelids (he remembered him drunk, trying to smooth calloused thumbs over Shiro’s own while they laughed, traces of beer and cheap box wine mingling between them as Adam told him in awe that his eyelids were so  _ smooth _ ). Adam’s thin lips, pressed half against his bare shoulder. Adam’s deep brown eyes, like rich chocolate. Adam’s serious brow, knitted into an amused expression.

 

“You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

 

“Sun’s up.”

 

“Shiro, it’s six.”

 

“Sun’s up,” Shiro said again, shifting, turning in Adam’s arms and relishing in the way hands curled against his flesh, pressing him closer, helping him move, slotting him into place like the perfect puzzle piece to complete their mish-mashed jigsaw of legs and arms and chests and noses slotted one against the other.

 

“Your breath sucks,” Adam said, matter of factly, so Shiro blew on him.

 

“Mature,  _ Takashi _ ,” he chided, nails pinching Shiro just above his ass. He stuck his tongue out in retaliation, laughing as Adam’s face found itself buried into his neck, inhaling against his skin. Sleepily, Shiro lifted a hand to rub at his eyes, blinking away the haze that came with waking, eyes roaming across their shared room.

 

No one told him the best thing about being an adult was having things that were  _ yours. _ His room at his parent’s house had been his and at the same time it hadn’t, but the room he shared with Adam was so clearly  _ theirs  _ it made him feel like bursting with a thousand rays of sunlight. Everything, top to bottom, was theirs; Adam’s glasses jankily settled over the book on cosmic theory he’d been reading; Shiro’s bin resting next to his desk, filled to the brim with crumpled bits of paper; the decidedly un-crumpled bit of paper tacked to his pinboard, a hole worn in the middle, edges rubbed smooth from how much it had been touched over the years.

 

It read, eloquently, in Shiro’s sharp handwriting: “Fuck you Adam (:”.

 

And there are memories too. When Adam shifts again to roll Shiro onto his back, laying across him like an extra blanket at the sheets tangle around his legs, he remembers trying to put them on the bed the first time, and accidentally punching himself in the face when the elastic corner snapped upward too fast for him to react. The garish blue-ish accent wall (the colour looked like that “fuck-ugly vein in Iverson’s neck”, as Adam had put it over breakfast once, making Shiro choke on his tea) reminded him of painting it in the glowing afternoon light, almost in tears over how  _ wrong _ the colour was for the room; it reminded him of Adam singing the words “oh no” over and over again, in varying tones and pitches, lopsided grin on his face.

 

“I can hear you thinking,” Adam mumbled against Shiro’s collar. Fondly, he ran his fingers through Adam’s hair, arching the pads of his fingertips against his scalp and massaging slowly.

 

“Only about how much I love you.”

 

“Love you most.”

 

“You’re supposed to say ‘I love you more’ so  _ I  _ can say ‘I love you most’. Those are the rules.” Shiro hummed, as if he hadn’t heard, wrapping both arms around Adam’s shoulders and tilting his face to nuzzle into his hair. Adam had soft hair, pretty and brown, and in sometimes, in the right light, he could see gold dancing between the strands.

 

“Fucker-” Adam grumbled, trying to wrestle a leg loose of the sheets so that he could kick Shiro with it. He could feel Adam’s smile curving at the base of his neck, felt the way his shoulders shook with silent laughter as Shiro bunched two hands in the sheets and pulled them tighter around the pair of them, trapping Adam against him more firmly. Adam narrowed his eyes, leaning in closer, until their lips were brushing. Shiro’s grip faltered on the sheets, eyes fluttering closed as their lips slotted together.

 

It always amazed him how well they fit together, how Adam’s fingers felt perfect in his grip, how Adam’s lips fit against his own perfectly, how Adam’s leg’s tangled with his as fingers slid around to brush through his undercut. Smile pressed to smile, they kissed languidly in the early morning sunlight, familiarising themselves with each minute detail of each other, as if they hadn’t committed them to memory already. A tentative knock at the door, followed by a soft call of Shiro’s name dragged them back into the real world, Adam sitting up atop Shiro’s hips.

 

“Keith?” Shiro echoed, his brain not quite recovered from the silly fog that always lingered after Adam kissed him. Keith was silent on the other side of the door for a long moment, before his voice came again, quieter this time, and almost shy;

 

“Can you make pancakes again?” Silence descended again, just the routine clack of the fan echoing around the room as Shiro stared at the ceiling blankly, mouth agape. Adam laughed, a soft huff of breath, as he took his hands and placed them either side of Shiro’s face. His thumbs slid over his cheekbones, mapping out the strong features he so adored, before the pressed up along his lower lash line, swiping away moisture gathering there.

 

“Are you crying?” He whispered.

 

“No,” Shiro whispered back, clearly crying. Adam laughed again, shoulders shaking silently, before his grin widened, and he raised his voice to make sure Keith would be able to hear.

 

“ _ Yeah _ , Shiro,” Adam said, “ _ can  _ you make pancakes again?”

 

“Of  _ course _ I can,” Shiro responded, swatting away Adam’s hands and sticking his tongue out at him as his fiance snickered, finally falling sideways off of him, sheets and bed cover dragged off of Shiro and around himself, as he bounced back on the mattress in a tangle of vibrant colour, warm eyes watching him with that fondness that he carried when he thought Shiro wasn’t looking. Outside, he heard the scuffle of feet in that way Keith moved when he was pleased, before footsteps padded off down the hall. Shiro leaned over to press a kiss to Adam’s forehead, exhaling a happy sigh as a warm hand pressed against the side of his neck, lean fingers curling over the nape of his neck to pull him closer to his lips.

 

“This isn’t over,” he murmured as their lips touched, “I’ll get you back for that.”

 

“I’m counting on it,” Adam whispered, a secret confession, uttered in the fractional space between their lips.

  
  
~~~~   
  
  


Bed felt like emptiness.

 

The Castle of Lions was sterile, was too-big, was too impersonal. Blue glow kept the room lit in the dim light, but there was nothing to see. No posters on the walls. No photos. No clothes scattered on the floor. No garish blue-purple accent wall, in a colour that looked like the vein in Iverson’s neck, no glasses haphazardly placed, no blinds to filter in sunlight. Nothing. Only Shiro, and only the clothes on his back that he’d taken from Keith’s shack.

 

He’d been gone a year. People thought he was dead. He wondered if Adam had grieved. If he had mourned. If he was with somebody new now. If Adam had been here, maybe this place would have reminded him of the Garrison. Maybe the too-small bed that had the heels of his feet pressed against the end of it would have reminded him of trying to cram into Adam’s top bunk, snickering and shushing each other so that they wouldn’t wake Lorenzo Huerta.

 

But it didn’t. The sheets were too silken, not cotton-scratchy enough. They were always cold. They were colourless. Nothing here felt like his. Not his arm, not the Black Lion, not his role as a leader. He wasn’t a leader, he was just old. Old and tired, and leading a bunch of  _ kids _ in a space war. He closed his eyes, squeezed them shut, gritted his teeth and willed the sleep to come. It didn’t. He stared at the ceiling again. Time ticked on, but there was nothing to let him know it. No fan to count the rotation pattern, no clock to show him the minutes rolling over, not unless he asked for it.

 

It wasn’t his. Keith had come to rescue him, but he’d taken him somewhere that wasn’t home, that wasn’t where he so desperately wanted to go. His alarm went off, blue interface springing to life against the far wall. He let the beeps permeate the silence, glad to have something repetitive to listen to. He hummed to the tune of them.  _ Hm-hh. Hm-hh. Hm-hh.  _ He pulled on his vest over his undershirt, shoved his feet into his boots. Clipped his belt around his waist. Dragged his glove onto his hand.

 

He flexed his robotic fingers. They responded, but they felt far away. He pushed himself off of the bed, opening his door and stepping into the hallway. The pressurized whoosh behind him was a quiet relief, a quiet reminder that he wouldn’t have to return for the rest of the day.

 

On the bridge, Keith and Lance bickered about something nonsensical as always. Keith snapped out some sort of biting reply, halting Lance in his tracks. He blurted out a clipped bark of laughter, followed by more howling giggles. Shiro watched Keith scowl, but he shifted his feet in an oh-so-familiar pattern of scuffling, like he used to do when Shiro agreed to making pancakes for him. Keith caught his eye across the bridge, narrowing his gaze at him. The corner of his mouth curved up in a smile as Keith went red in the cheeks, only breaking eye contact when Lance speaking again dragged Keith’s attention away.

 

“ _ Dude, _ ” he was saying, breathless with laughter, “my  _ man _ , that is  _ not  _ how you use that saying at all.”

 

Keith said something in return, but Shiro wasn’t listening. With a bittersweet smile on his lips, he turned to the window and stared out at the stars. As the argument between Keith and Lance raged on, now with added input from Pidge and Hunk, and the occasional helpful correction by Coran, Shiro’s mind wandered. Watching the ship move slowly through space, Shiro thought about Adam.

  
  
~~~~   
  
  


“Can you tell us a story, Adam?”

 

“Okay.”

 

“What story are you going to tell us, Adam?”

 

“I don’t know yet, I’m thinking.”

 

“Make it a good one.”

 

“What’s a good one?”

 

“One with adventure.”

 

“And romance.”

 

“Romance is boring.”

 

“ _ And romance _ ,” the boy insisted, face screwed up at his classmate as she stuck her tongue out at him. A weary smile crossed Adam’s features, as he watched the rest of his Garrison class slowly sit up, propping themselves up in sleeping bags on the roof of one of the buildings. It was the best he could do for a ‘camping trip’ after some kind of alien craft had crash-landed last year.

 

(“We think it was Takashi,” Iverson had said, sounding gentler than he’d ever heard him, hand resting on Adam’s shoulder. He swore he heard his voice crack when he said “I’m sorry”. Adam said “where is he?” and Iverson had said “I don’t know” and the world had fallen out from under him again, and Iverson didn’t catch him when he fell to his knees and sobbed. He’d left the room without another word and he’d kept the rest of the staff away for the next few hours, but none of that brought Takashi back.)

 

“Once upon a time,” he started, and the children stopped bickering, “there were two boys at the galaxy Garrison. One of the boys had a father who had programmed the computer systems for the Garrison, while the other had moved across the country to be there. The other boys would make fun of the new boy, said that he cried all the time because he missed his parents so much, and made fun of him for running away when they woke up in the middle of the night to see he wasn’t in his bed. Then, one day, the boy fell and broke his arm. The doctors wrapped it in a pretty purple cast, and when he came back to the Garrison, everyone wanted to write on it.”

 

“But they bullied him!” The little girl protested.

 

“They did,” Adam agreed, “but that boy was so kind that he forgave them, and let them write their names as a promise of friendship. Finally, the boy whose father made the programs signed the cast. Their eyes met, and they knew they would be friends. They stayed friends even after the cast came off, even after the others forgot their promises. They stopped making fun of the boy for crying, and they stopped asking where he had been in the night. But the computer boy was curious, and he asked his friend- ‘where do you go during the night?’ and the new boy said- ‘let me show you’.

 

“The new boy woke his friend in the middle of the night, and led him through the Garrison’s halls. They weren’t supposed to be out at night, and the computer boy said so. The new boy smiled like he knew, and he led his friend up the stairs, and to the roof, where he sat on the edge with his feet dangling over, and lay himself back against the concrete you’re sitting on now.” He watched the children glance around themselves, murmuring quietly, before the little girl from earlier blinked at him, wide-eyed.

 

“What happened next?”

 

“The new boy’s friend laid next to him, and they looked at the stars together. The new boy said he missed that, where he came from, where they would reach down and kiss the lake at the back of his house, where they would hug the mountains far in the distance, and where the trees would sing to them. He said there was nothing here. But, the computer boy had lived here his whole life, and he told his friend he did not look closely enough. He touched his hand, and helped him point, and he said; ‘see there, Takashi- there the stars dance on the outcroppings. And there they race in the sand. There the stars argue with our lights, and in that valley they play hide-and go seek’. And the new boy went silent and still, before he smiled, and thanked the other boy for showing him his world.”

 

“Then what!” The romance-boy asked, leaning closer.

 

“Then, they grew up. They stayed friends, and they liked to go and watch the stars. They even fell in love under them. But the computer boy was convinced that his friend loved him more than he loved the stars. One day, his friend told him that he wished to go to the stars, to dance with them.”

 

“And then what?” Adam faltered, paused. He remembered it too well. It made his chest feel tight, the frantic anger that had risen in him when Takashi had said he wanted to go to Kerberos. The fear of losing him. He’d held on too tight. But this was a story. It was only a story.

 

“Then… the computer boy understood. To love someone, you have to encourage them to do what they want to do. So the computer boy kissed his friend and sent him off on a rocket into space, where he danced among the stars, and watched over his friend on Earth.”

 

“That wasn’t a very good ending,” the little girl said, with a wrinkle of her nose.

 

“ _ I  _ thought it was great,” said the little boy. Adam smiled at both of them.

 

“I guess that’s why I’m a teacher, we’re not supposed to be good at telling stories. Time for bed.” But Adam didn’t sleep. How could he, when this place meant so much to him? His eyes closed, and he saw Takasi. Young, but wise beyond his years, heads leaned together, shoulders touching, as he pointed out the constellations to Adam. He knew them already, but he liked to hear the stories Takashi would make about them, the silly little legends he’d make up. He liked to watch the way his lips formed around words, the way they curved into content, contemplative smiles.

 

He remembered it so vividly, when their eyes had met. Takashi had caught him staring at his lips. They were both blushing. They leaned in closer. Takashi’s eyes were searching. They had kissed. It was clumsy, their teeth knocked, and neither of them knew what they were doing, but it was theirs, and it was a moment they didn’t have to share.

  
Adam was relieved to not have to sleep under the stars the next night. Instead, he got to sleep in his bed in his complex at the edge of the Garrison. Takashi’s things were packed in the cupboards. Iverson’s complex was a mere minute’s walk away. Takashi’s imprint was fading from the mattress they once shared, his side of the bed always cold. The blue-purple accent wall seemed more gray than blue these days, without Takashi’s impish smile to remind him of the comment he’d made about Iverson’s neck-vein. But some things never changed.

 

The pads of his thumbs smoothed across the paper, careful not to tug too hard, afraid the hole in the middle would split wider and rip it in half. The blue lines under his thumb had almost been rubbed away, and Takashi’s pen had faded, but the memory remained. Iverson had made Takshi read it out in front of their theoretical physics class. He hadn’t even gone red as he’d squared his shoulders and looked Iverson dead in the eye. Lorenzo had earned a detention when he laughed as Takashi said “smiley face, period”.

 

“Fuck you Adam (:” said the note.

 

_ Don’t expect me to be waiting for you when you get back.  _ His chest tightened, and he pulled the note to it, tipping his head back into the pillows as the first tear came, and a shuddering inhale wracked his body.

  
  
~~~~   
  
  


Bed felt like catharsis.

 

Shiro honestly thought he’d never get to feel Adam’s arms around him again, that he’d never be able to experience the feeling of his body fitted around his own, the way his breath ghosted over his shoulder and down along his spine, and the way his nose fit perfectly against his neck. He hadn’t lost the skill, though, of being able to twist his neck to watch Adam sleep without waking him up.

 

Sunlight filtered in through the blinds, bathing the room in brilliant gold. They’d repainted the Iverson neck-vein wall into a too-bright gold that shone metallically under the morning light. That note from theoretical physics was pinned to the corkboard again, and they’d invested in fairy lights to string across the room above their bed and above Shiro’s desk for some extra light. Pidge had gifted him a few low-maintenance plants from Olkarion (along with a strict instruction for Adam  _ not  _ to kill them), and Lance, Hunk and Keith had pitched in on a “splatter painting” that hung above their combined dresser.

 

“We’re regular Jackson Pollocks now,” Lance had said proudly, yellow and red paint drying on his nose.

 

“Jackson Bollocks?!” Keith had squawked, insulted, and then he pushed Lance over, sending him tripping into what was left of the blue paint, and leaving a massive blue stain on what Lance had complained were ‘his jeans that made his ass look the best’.

 

Shiro’s hand traced up Adam’s arm, sliding over his fingers to rub over the cool metal of his engagement ring, smoothing his calloused thumb over it. Adam shifted, lips pressing so gently he might have missed it against his neck, as he leaned into him to watch his hand move. Shiro determinedly wiggled his fingers under Adam’s hand so that he could lace them, squeezing gently as he leant back into his boyfriend, letting him support his weight.

 

“You got heavy,” Adam murmured, shifting so that his elbow wasn’t digging into the bed so much, “You’re crushing me.”

 

“If you want to be the little spoon you can just ask,” Shiro reminded him, smiling into the pillows. Adam snorted, but moments later he was climbing over Shiro, to settle with his back to Shiro’s chest. He paused, turning back to blink at him, before his eyes trailed down to the stump just south of Shiro’s bicep. He smiled, wrapping his free arm under Adam and drawing him back against his chest, leaning into him and pressing a placating kiss to his shoulder.

 

“It’s fine, honey, I promise.” Adam hummed, snuggling down, wrapping both hands around Shiro’s forearm.

 

“I can’t believe you went to space, adopted four children and two aliens, a cow, a space wolf, three mice, lost an arm, died and came back to life. No wonder you went gray.”

 

“You said you liked the gray. You said you thought it was sexy.”

 

“I do. It is.” Adam leaned back into him, one hand coming up to card through Shiro’s hair, pressing his fringe back from his forehead. “Your haircut sucks though.” Shiro laughed, leaning forward to nuzzle into Adam’s shoulder, giving him a squeeze.

 

“ _ Cheeky _ ,” he said, flexing his fingers outward, until Adam laced their fingers together again. Shiro knew that he made their rings clack together with an almost imperceptible metallic clink, but it made him grin anyway, as he settled his nose against the curve of Adam’s neck, and exhaled, slowly. Adam squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back, relishing in the warmth of the bed, the warmth of the fun of his back, the pounding of fists on his door-

 

“ _ Shi-ROOOOOOOO _ .” That was Keith’s voice, accompanying the forceful banging that made him blink blearily at the shuddering metal. Adam raised a brow, before tipping his head back on Shiro’s shoulder to pout accusingly at him as another pair of hands began hammering. This one was faster paced, and the sound of it indicated open palm slaps.

 

“ _ SHIROOOOOOOOOOOO. _ ” That was Lance, most definitely, and Shiro couldn’t help but smile as Adam let out a long-suffering sigh, the kind that was just a tad too dramatic to be real, as he draped one of his hands over his forehead with a sniff.

 

“There’s fucking two of them.”

 

“Woe is you,” Shiro said, “you’ll never recover.” Adam’s hand flopped back to lightly slap Shiro’s pectoral muscle.

 

“Fuck you, Takashi.”

 

“ _ SHIRO _ ,” Lance whined, “let us in or we’re knocking down the door!”

 

“Shiro and I are having sex!” Adam yelled, making Shiro splutter, and go red, as he pinched Adam’s abdomen, making his fiance snort and curl back into him, protectively folding in on himself.

 

“Too bad!” Lance’s airy reply came, at the same moment that the door slid open. Lance made a run for the bed, and with an elegant leap, launched himself up and over both of them, flopping down the other side of Shiro, carefully settling his legs over his side so as not to spook him. Keith followed after, a little more reserved. He knelt on the edge of the bed, before flopping forward across all three of them, forearms resting on Lance’s thigh.

 

Shiro and Adam wriggled around under the pair of them until they could sit up properly, Adam’s hand in the small of Shiro’s back to help him stabilize without his other arm. As Lance reached down to ruffle Keith’s hair, Shiro and Adam exchanged a look. With matching impish smiles, they reached forward and shoved Keith off of their legs, sending him rolling off the bed and onto the floor with a surprised bark of laughter. Lance burst into howling cackles, shrieking as Shiro placed his hand on his chest and shoved him too, sending him tumbling dramatically backward and onto the floor next to Keith.

 

“What did you want, Lance?” Shiro asked, the amusement palpable in his voice as he settled back into Adam’s chest, head resting on his shoulder, comfortable with the feeling of his arms around him. Keith’s head appeared over the foot of the bed.

 

“We made you and Adam pancakes for breakfast,” he proclaimed, proudly. Lance’s head also appeared, one elbow leaning on Keith’s shoulder, hands clasped.

 

“ _ I  _ made you pancakes,” he corrected indignantly, “ _ Keith _ made a valiant attempt on my  _ life _ , Shiro, it was so scary, you have no idea.”

 

“The idea of Keith cooking in my kitchen gave me heart palpitations,” Adam admitted, ignoring the betrayed sputter of shock that that got out of Keith. Scowling, Shiro’s younger brother turned to Lance, lower lip stuck out in a pout, as the freckled boy beamed, brown skin glowing in the early morning sun.

 

“I hate you,” Keith grumbled, and Lance leaned in to press an over-dramatic kiss to Keith’s cheek, before bursting into tinkling laughter. As Adam’s chest heaved and shook with his own silent chuckling, Shiro let his eyes flutter closed, letting the sounds wash over him like a wave. Adam’s hand found his, fingers lacing again and squeezing. His eyes opened again, and he tilted his head to meet Adam’s gaze. His fiance leaned in, and as their foreheads pressed together, for the first time in years, Shiro felt at peace.


End file.
